by John Saul
Kelly, already on the verge of exhaustion, felt a wave of dizziness overwhelm her. Then the blackness of the night closed around her as her mind began to shut down.
“This is nuts,” Tim Kitteridge muttered as Marty Templar turned their boat into yet another of the endless bayous. “I hope you know where the hell we are, because if it were up to me, I’d never get us out of here.”
Templar chuckled, but the laugh died away quickly. It had been almost two hours, and there hadn’t been so much as a trace of Kelly Anderson. He glanced at the chief out of the corner of his eye, then returned his gaze to the swamp. “Seems like maybe we ought to wait till morning,” he said. “We’re almost back where we started from, and if we’re going to keep on looking, we’ll have to do it on foot. Only places we haven’t been are where it’s too shallow to take a boat like this.”
Kitteridge nodded. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. Let’s head back to the bridge.” He raised his bullhorn and called out to the next boat in the loose network, telling its occupant what they were going to do and asking him to pass the word along.
The search party began gathering at the bridge, the boats arriving one by one until there was a small flotilla rafted together in the canal. The men scrambled ashore, gathering around the chief.
“Marty and I think it’s time to call it off until morning,” Kitteridge said. “The way I see it, if Kelly’d been able to hear any of us calling her, she’d have answered, so wherever she is, she’s not where we’ve been looking, or she doesn’t want to be found.”
Ted Anderson pushed his way through the crowd to stand angrily in front of the police chief. “You mean you’re giving up!”
“I didn’t say that, Mr. Anderson,” Kitteridge replied patiently. “All I said is that I think we’d have a hell of a lot better chance of finding your daughter if we do it in the daylight. You can’t see a thing out there—”
“So you’re just going to quit?” Ted demanded. “What the hell kind of crap is that? She could be hurt out there! By morning she could be dead!”
A silence shrouded the group. Each of the men was unwilling to voice what he was thinking, but the silence itself spoke clearly enough.
“You all think she’s already dead, don’t you?” Ted said, his voice low and trembling.
Kitteridge shifted uncomfortably, but finally spread his hands helplessly. “I think it’s something we have to consider,” he said, unwilling to lie to Kelly’s father. “There’s a lot that can happen to someone out here, even in the daytime. At night …” His voice trailed off, but before Ted Anderson could say anything more, Craig Sheffield moved forward.
“I think we have another problem, Tim,” he said, his expression clearly reflecting the fear he was feeling. “Michael didn’t come back with the rest of us.”
Kitteridge started at Craig. “Michael?” he repeated. “Are you telling me your kid was out there, too?”
Craig’s voice took on a defensive edge. “Why wouldn’t he have been?” he demanded. “He knows the swamp better than any of the rest of us, and he knows Kelly, too. Do you really think I could have stopped him?”
Kitteridge took a deep breath, then slowly released it in a long sigh. “All right. So now we have two kids missing. Just what is it you want me to do? Keep this search up until every one of us is lost?”
Craig’s eyes fixed icily on the police chief. “I expect you to do whatever is necessary to find our children.”
Kitteridge felt his temper beginning to fray. He understood exactly how the two fathers felt, but he also was all too aware of the futility of night searches. Unless the person they were hunting for was able to respond—and wanted to respond—the task was next to impossible. He made up his mind.
“I intend to find these kids, Craig. We’ll start again at dawn, with more men.”
“What about dogs?” someone called out from among the men around him. “B. J. Herman’s got some of the best hounds in the county.”
Kitteridge sighed. “We’ll sure try ’em,” he agreed, but privately wondered how anyone could expect a hound to follow a scent through a marsh. Still, he was willing to try anything.
“I’m not quitting, Tim,” Craig Sheffield said quietly. “And I don’t think Ted and Carl Anderson are going to give up and go home, either.” He glanced toward the two men, who nodded their agreement. Then he raised his voice so the rest of the search party could hear him. “Anybody else willing to keep looking?”
The men glanced uneasily at each other, then one by one nodded. “Seems like we can’t just leave them out there,” someone said.
Kitteridge hesitated, but knew he’d already lost control of the search party. They’d stay out all night, and by morning, when they’d actually have a chance of finding the two missing kids, they’d be exhausted.
Which meant that he’d have to find more searchers. Still, he understood how they felt. “All right,” he agreed. “Anyone who wants to, keep looking. But remember, if you don’t find them tonight, we start again at dawn.” He turned to Marty Templar. “Come on. You and I have some work to do. We’ve got to get the state troopers lined up, and maybe we can borrow some boys from up at Fort Stewart.” As the group of men started moving back toward the boats, he turned to Craig Sheffield and Ted Anderson. “I’ll go by Carl’s house and let your wives know what’s happening. And as for you, Craig,” he added, “I won’t try to stop what you’re doing, but I’m going on record right now as telling you it’s both stupid and useless. I don’t want anyone else getting lost out there. Do we understand each other?”
Craig was silent for a moment, but finally offered the chief his hand. “I know what you’re saying, Tim, and if it weren’t our kids out there, I’d probably agree with you. But Michael’s my son, and I can’t just sit up all night worrying about him. I have to do something.”
Kitteridge and Marty Templar watched as the search party set out once more, then returned to the squad car. As they headed toward the Anderson house, Kitteridge frowned.
“I never saw Judd Duval out there,” he said.
Templar chuckled. “I never expected to. He knows places in that swamp you and I could never hope to find. And if I had to bet, I’d bet that when those kids are found, it’ll be Judd who finds them.”
Michael knew he was close to Kelly now—he could feel it.
It had been nearly an hour since he’d turned away from the rest of the search party, slipping off into the narrow bayous, guiding his boat almost by instinct through the maze of islands, threading his way between sunken logs, raising the motor twice to row through water so shallow that the hull of the boat scraped against the mud bottom.
Ten minutes ago he’d heard a muffled shot, and knew it must have been fairly close by—even a gunshot carried only a few hundred yards in the swamp before dying away without so much as a trace of an echo.
He’d turned the boat in the direction of the shot, and finally had to get out and pull it over a bar between two of the islands, but now he was on his way again, every nerve in his body attuned to the slightest alien noises.
Suddenly, ahead of him, he heard a splashing in the water and switched on his light, playing its beam over the rippling surface.
Ahead, the water was frothing as an alligator thrashed spasmodically, rolling over on its back, its tail lashing weakly.
Michael frowned.
At night the ’gators were usually lying in the shallows, all but covered by the water, waiting for an unwary water bird to cruise too close. Or asleep.
He moved the boat closer, until he was only a few yards away from the big reptile.
It was lying on its back now, but suddenly the tail thrashed again and it flipped over.
He played the light over its body, then held it steady as the beam revealed a hole in the creature’s head.
He frowned, then understood.
Someone had shot the ’gator, apparently from close range. From the look of the hole, the animal must have been charging, and
whoever held the gun had fired it straight into the ’gator’s mouth.
He moved the light forward, and his breath caught in his throat.
A piece of cloth, stained and muddy, was caught in the corner of the ’gator’s mouth.
Kelly.
Kelly had been here, and the ’gator had attacked her.
But someone else had been here, too, and fired at the ’gator.
He cast the beam of light around, searching for any sign of Kelly, but there was none.
Who had been here?
It was none of the searchers, of that he was certain. The rest of them, he was sure, had stayed together, combing through the swamp as best they could, never losing sight of each other.
One of the swamp rats.
It had to be.
One of them had been out here and found Kelly.
But who?
Had it been a coincidence? Had one of the men who hunted the swamp at night simply stumbled onto Kelly?
And then he knew.
Turning away from the dying alligator, he opened the throttle on the outboard. The engine roared to life, the stern of the boat dropping low as the bow rose up. A minute later, climbing up onto the plane, the boat skimmed across the water, moving deeper and deeper into the wilderness.
Only in the heart of the swamp, Michael knew, would he find Kelly.
18
Jenny Sheffield woke up as a car door slammed outside the open front window of the room in which she’d been sleeping. For a minute she wasn’t sure where she was, but as she rubbbed at her eyes and came fully awake, the doorbell chimed and she remembered. Kelly Anderson had gotten lost in the swamp, and, Jenny recalled, her father and brother had gone looking for her. Maybe they were back now.
She slid out of the bed and went to the back window, looking out at the dock, hoping to see their boat tied up there.
The dock was empty, and though she looked as far up and down the canal as she could see, it, too, was deserted.
Turning away, she scurried across the room to the other window, the one that overlooked the driveway, and peered down. There was a police car in the street in front of the house, its headlights on and a flashing light revolving on the roof. But if her father and Michael hadn’t come back yet, why were the police here?
Clad in one of Kelly’s pajama tops, she went to the door and opened it a crack, pressing her eye to the narrow gap. From where she was, she could barely see down the stairs to the front door. But she could hear voices in the living room, and then there was a muted scream.
“No!”
There was just the one word. For a split second Jenny thought someone had seen her and was telling her to shut the door. But before she could do anything, she heard another sound.
It sounded like someone crying. Pulling the door open, she tiptoed to the landing at the top of the stairs and looked down. Now she could see into the living room. Two policemen were standing near the coffee table, and her mother was sitting on the couch, with Kelly’s mother next to her.
It was her mother who was crying.
Frightened, Jenny ran down the stairs, then scuttled over to the couch, climbing up into her mother’s lap. “Mommy? What’s wrong?”
Barbara, wiping away the tears that had overwhelmed her when Tim Kitteridge had told her the news, hugged Jenny close.
“It’s nothing for you to worry about, sweetheart,” she said, not knowing whether she was trying to reassure her daughter or herself. “Michael just went off by himself while everyone was looking for Kelly, and now they can’t find him, either.”
Jenny gazed worriedly up into her mother’s face. “Are you scared?”
“No, darling, of course not,” Barbara lied. Forcing a tiny, shaky smile, she added, “Well, maybe a little.”
“But Michael knows all about the swamp,” Jenny told her. “He goes there all the time.”
“I know, honey,” Barbara sighed, sniffling and wiping her eyes with the Kleenex Mary Anderson had handed her. “I’m just being silly. Your daddy’s out looking for him, and by now they’re probably all together again.” She eased Jenny off her lap and stood up. “And if you don’t go back to bed, you’re not going to want to get up in the morning. Come on.” With an apology to the two officers, and a promise to be right back, she led Jenny back up to Kelly’s room and tucked her back in the bed. “Now I want you to go back to sleep,” she said, leaning over to kiss the little girl.
Jenny frowned up at her mother in the darkness. “Is something bad going to happen to Michael?”
“No,” Barbara insisted, putting a conviction into her voice that she wished she felt. “He just went the wrong way, and now Daddy has to look for him. That’s all.” Barbara kissed Jenny again and gave her a final tucking in. “Try to sleep, honey. All right?”
“All right,” Jenny replied, turning over and closing her eyes. But as soon as her mother was gone she sat up, slid out of the bed, and crept back out to the landing so she could hear whatever was going on downstairs.
“I don’t understand why you’re not out there with them,” she heard her mother saying.
“Mrs. Sheffield, there are still five men out there, but searching that swamp at night is like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
“But our children—” Mary Anderson began.
The police chief cut in. “Believe me, I know how you feel, Mrs. Anderson. And whether you believe it or not, we’re doing everything we can. By sunup Marty and I are going to have enough men out here to search the swamp inch by inch. But that takes some organization, and I can’t do that and be out there in a boat, too.”
“I know,” Barbara sighed, determined not to give in to the fear that was threatening to overwhelm her. “Just let us know what’s going on.”
“You can count on it. And try not to worry. Michael knows the swamp, and Kelly just might walk out anytime.” His gaze shifted to Mary Anderson. “If she was as mad as it sounds like, it seems to me there’s a pretty good chance that she doesn’t want to be found. I have an idea she might just know exactly where she is, and come back home once she cools down.”
“Or she might do something else,” Mary replied, her voice trembling. “If she believes her father thinks she’s crazy, she might try to kill herself again. But we can’t even find her to tell her that no one’s mad at her.” She shook her head sadly. “And even if we could, I don’t think she’d believe a word any adult said to her.”
Barbara managed a sorrowful, wry smile. “Maybe we sent the wrong people out to look for her,” she said. “Maybe Jenny and I should have gone.”
As her mother and the policemen started toward the front door, Jenny silently darted back into Kelly’s room, quietly closing the door behind her. But instead of getting back into bed, she pulled off the pajama top and began putting on her clothes. She put her underwear on backward in the darkness, but didn’t notice it, then got into her jeans and pulled her T-shirt over her head. Shoving her bare feet into her shoes, she fumbled with the laces, but finally got them tied.
As she carefully opened the outside door and stepped onto the landing, she felt a pang of fear.
What if she got lost, too?
She gazed apprehensively at the swamp in the distance and almost changed her mind. But then she saw the path along the edge of the canal, and the bright pools of light that flooded from the lamps that lined it every hundred feet. If she stayed on the path, nothing bad could happen to her. And she could call out to Kelly from there. And if she actually found Kelly—
She felt a surge of excitement. The last of her fear evaporated as she set out on her adventure.
Kelly felt as though she was drowning in a sea of blackness. It was all around her, pressing down on her, constricting her. She had to struggle, had to free herself from its grip. She tried to move, but it felt as if she was mired in quicksand. But then, far off, there was a faint glimmer of light. If she could reach it—bring it into focus—she’d be all right. But it was so far away, and she was s
o tired.
She moaned softly, and then felt her arms move.
The light brightened, and she realized her eyes were open.
The moon.
It was the bright crescent of the moon she saw, and, as she came slowly back to consciousness, she began to remember.
Running through the swamp, her terror growing every minute.
The alligator attacking her. The shot exploding only a few yards away from her.
The hands lifting her out of the mud, pulling her into the boat.
The face.
The swamp rat’s face.
Her breath caught in a gasp of sudden fear. Almost involuntarily her eyes shifted from the bright light of the moon to the face of the man who sat at the center of the boat.
Not a man.
A boy.
A boy she’d seen before. And then it came back to her.
“I know you,” she said. “I saw you the first night I was here. You were at the edge of the swamp.”
Jonas nodded. “I was watchin’ out for you.”
Kelly frowned. “But I was looking for you. I couldn’t find you.”
Jonas pulled at the oars, and the boat slid silently into a narrow passage between two islets. “Don’t matter. I was there, and made sure nothin’ happened to you. Like tonight.”
Kelly’s frown deepened. “You mean you were looking for me?”
“Didn’t have to look. I knowed where you was at.”
“But—”
“There’s lots of other folk lookin’ for you, too. But they didn’t know where you was.”
Kelly fell silent, studying the boy in the faint light of the moon. His clothes were little more than rags, and he looked half starved, with his hollow cheeks and sunken eyes.
If she’d seen him in Villejeune, she knew she would have been afraid of him.
And yet now, in the middle of the night, in the swamp, she felt no fear of him at all. Indeed, she felt as if she knew him.
“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” she asked.
